


I Promised Myself (I Wouldn't Let You Complete Me)

by rosepetalsofsin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Come Eating, Come Marking, Come Sharing, Come Shot, Come Slut Sam, Come Swallowing, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dean in Denial, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Dry Humping, Hand Jobs, Jealous Sam Winchester, M/M, Nipple Play, Possessive Dean, Possessive Sex, Pre-Series, This entire fic is gonna be about come lmao, Weecest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 01:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11613276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosepetalsofsin/pseuds/rosepetalsofsin
Summary: Dean doesn't know why it happened; it just did.But he’s pretty sure the answer lies somewhere between his little brother’s grabby hands and his greedy fuckin’ tongue.





	I Promised Myself (I Wouldn't Let You Complete Me)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been dreaming of writing this fic for ages, and now it's finally happening. You'll find nothing but porn here. A little plot, if you squint.
> 
> The title is taken from probably my favorite Halsey line in her song "Is There Somewhere" which I highly recommend you listen to if you haven't.
> 
> I don't own the characters, I wish I did, and have fun with the filth my mind created for you:

* * *

Dean doesn't know why it happened; it just _did_.

 

But he’s pretty sure the answer lies somewhere between his little brother’s grabby hands and his greedy fuckin’ tongue.

 

Look, the first time it happens is during the winter and for fuck’s sake, Dad has them holed up in a motel with no warmth and that’s his own goddamn fault.

 

He blames him for driving into a snowstorm when they were already in Ohio and he said his next hunt is over in Pennsylvania. It could have waited until the morning, right? Because Dean’s pretty sure that nest of vamps waiting for them wouldn’t even be ballsy enough to try anything in a storm like this.

 

John grumbles something along the lines of, “We’ve come this far,” but ends up stopping at the first motel sign he can actually see in the distance through the snow. He checks them in with routine for a room they at least hope will have two beds and a couch, if they’re lucky.

 

Actually, the fact that there’s no couch in the room doesn't even faze them. John’s gone as soon as Sam and Dean get their bags out of the Impala, off to meet up with a buddy somewhere around Canonsburg to get the vampires he says are in Pittsburg. Dean doesn’t blame him; he’s been looking forward to it since they started to drive back in Georgia.

 

So they’ve got two beds and a heater that probably hasn’t worked right in years. The pipes aren’t frozen, but Dean knows the hot water won’t last and gives the first shower to Sam without a second thought. Then he does the usual and puts salt on the windows, around the door, takes his gun from his bag and sets his knife under his pillow. Just the way Dad does it.

 

It’s a wordless routine they’ve had for years, and they hardly have to say a word to the other. But there’s enough snowfall to shock even the weatherman on their staticky 3-channel tv set before they completely lose hope of signal and, before boredom sets in on a Friday night, they turn in.

 

Sam takes one bed and Dean the other; the same way it’s been since Sam was 13 and John decided he didn’t need to share a bed with his big brother anymore.

 

It’s just that the heater isn’t helping them from where it barely rumbles from the other side of the room. Dean shifts in his bed and tries to focus on warmth like it’s anywhere near him. But when he turns his head he hears something else, and he realizes it’s not the broken heater making the noise.

 

It’s Sam.

 

“Sammy?” Dean looks over to the other bed and just sees his brother curled up in a tight ball and looking right back at him. Dean sits up and hears now Sam’s teeth chattering.

 

“M’ _cold._ ”

 

He sounds like a little kid again, and Dean feels that familiar tug inside him to make it all better.

 

“Come here.” Dean shifts over to the opposite side of his bed and moves his sheets and blanket back, inviting his little brother in. “And bring the comforter.”

 

Sam does what he’s told and barely has to step once between their two beds before he’s joining Dean. Dean takes the blanket as Sam gets settled, throwing it over top of his before pulling them up. Sam curls up against Dean and that’s when he feels how he shivers.

 

“Really are cold, huh?” Dean only teases, like he should have known that Sam was gonna end up colder because even though he’s lost most of his baby fat and grown a few inches doesn’t mean he’s bigger than Dean. He wraps an arm around Sam and holds him close without a second thought, rubs his shoulders to get some warmth into him.

 

He figures John won't be returning to sleep in the motel room, but maybe it’s not such a bad idea to leave him one anyway.

 

It takes a while for Sam to stop shivering, and Dean feels like he’s won something once Sam finally relaxes, eyes closed and breathing easy with his head on Dean’s arm. For a moment he just looks at his little brother, thinks about how lonely he’d be without him to keep him busy.

 

“Thanks, Dean,” his little brother barely whispers before he moves even closer to Dean. His body is warm and they share it together under the blankets and one sheet.

 

Dean doesn’t think about what John would think if he came in and saw him with Sam’s body curled up against his and his head underneath his chin. He falls asleep with the scent of his little brother’s green apple shampoo in his nose.

 

John will never know, anyway. He never does.

 

 

Sleeping with Sam is a paradox.

 

Dean has always known that he sleeps better with his little brother in the same bed as him. It's like he doesn’t have to worry so much because he can keep him safer like this, close and protected. It just also means he’s hyperaware of his brother’s body. It’s a security thing, the way he used to wake sometimes in the night to check on him. But when Sam is in the same bed as him, movement always catches his consciousness.

 

What wakes Dean up this time is just that, except it’s not so much the movement as it is the touching. When his mind wakes enough to properly think, he first registers warmth along his side and his lower abdomen. Then the impossibly sweet smell of green apple shampoo that’s so entirely Sammy it grips him in the chest and _pulls_ at such a late hour.

 

Then he feels the weight of his brother, remembers the presence of him as Dean’s right arm is still around Sam with his little brother’s head tucked under his chin. Sam’s completely turned and plastered himself against Dean’s right side, his own right hand laying across Dean’s chest over his t-shirt.

 

Dean’s fine until his brother shifts and he feels his leg hitch up higher across Dean’s abdomen as it rests right below his navel.

 

Suddenly their body heat feels like way too much.

 

For a moment Dean’s stuck there, eyes wide open and looking up at the popcorn ceiling, his vision only aided by the cheap yellow light shining from around the wall in the kitchen. He hears his breath as it comes faster than Sam’s, thinks about pulling away from his brother but going and laying in the other bed would just leave Sam cold again, which is the opposite of what he was trying to do.

 

Sam relaxes and Dean decides after a couple minutes, Dean closes his eyes and tell himself it’s fine. Nothing’s gonna stir up (no pun intended) as long as Sam doesn't move.

 

Like all little brothers, Sam totally does the opposite of what Dean wants him to do.

 

Sam presses his body impossibly more against Dean’s side, and fuck if he doesn't hiss through his teeth as Sam’s thigh not only grazes but actually stays halfway atop Dean’s already half-hard dick.

 

Dean doesn’t admit to himself how disappointed he is they both wore pajama pants to bed.

 

At least Sam is still asleep and has his head under Dean’s chin like an angel, but now all of Dean’s senses are focused on the part of Sam’s thigh that’s literally covering his balls and half his dick through his boxers and pajama pants.

 

Dean closes his eyes and swallows, his heart racing in his chest and he hopes Sam can’t hear it from where his ear rests on his collarbone. He can feel his breaths there, and he tries not to focus on the pulse he can _really_ feel down south.

 

Then like a dream Dean feels it, the minute movement of his brother’s body against him. A small movement but it’s definitely there, and Dean’s breathing actually stops because Sam is _rocking his hips against Dean._

 

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Dean thinks - probably says aloud, he’s not sure.

 

“ _Dean_.”

 

Dean takes in a breath so fast he almost chokes on it, and if that throws him off them he’s completely lost at the wet feeling of a tongue tracing over that one fucking sensitive spot on his neck, and then a fucking _nip_ right below his jawline where his jugular pulses erratically now.

 

“Sam.”

 

His name sounds rough from Dean’s through as he grabs at Sam’s shoulder, broken and torn with the way Sam keeps moving like that, and _fuck_ , Dean can feel how hard Sam is against him now.

 

When the hell did that happen?

 

Sam doesn’t say anything, just runs his hand over Dean’s abdomen and slips it up under his shirt. His fingertips are warm there as he draws lazy circles like he used to when he was a baby, tracing up, up, and up with little swirls.

 

But then Sam’s fingertip finds a nipple and Dean squeezes his shoulder like a warning, _you can back out of this if you want._

 

Sam lifts his head and looks at Dean - looks at him in the dim light that barely finds their beds and can’t hide what’s happening between them.

 

Hazel eyes meet green, and that’s it.

 

Sam doesn't stop until he makes Dean gasp, the way he pinches and teases his nipples. He pauses for the first time and looks like a curious cat that’s found something interesting to prey upon.

 

Dean will never admit it but he totally drowns in that look, and he’s the fucking _oldest_.

 

He’s gotta be dreaming. That’s gotta be it. Except that it feels so real when Sam suddenly drags his nails down Dean’s body to find the waistband of Dean’s pajamas. Dean looks at his little brother who’s stopped rocking his hips now, and he worries they’re tempting things too far now.

 

Before Dean says anything and despite the biting coldness of the room, Sam throws their shared blankets and sheet down and moves to slide down the bed.

 

_Holy fuck._

 

Dean stops his brother with a hand on his shoulder, looks at him.

 

“You don't have to do this.”

 

And God fucking help Dean Winchester; his little brother _smiles._  His bangs fall into his eyes as he leans down and presses his lips right above the waistband of Dean’s pants, at which point Dean decides _fuck it_ and tugs his pajama pants the down with the swiftest lift of his hips.

 

Sammy leaves the boxers and does the rest.

 

It’s the strangest fucking thing, watching his little brother reach into the slit of his boxers before he _feels_ him, that hot touch of a hand that shouldn't know how to feel him like that, that shouldn’t touch anyone, much less Dean.

 

Dean swears he’s gotta be dreaming because Sam starts stroking and stroking him, nice and slow and watching him with that curious look, always trying to learn. His eyes are so fucking glossy and blown with lust that Dean feels like he’s looking at divine art.

 

Only this is the kind of art that Dean’s pretty sure he’s going to burn in hell over.

 

Dean gasps when Sam’s thumb passes just over the underside of the head of his dick, thrusts his hips up and almost comes right then and there.

 

“ _Sammy_.”

 

It’s a warning as Dean moves his hand from where it’s rested on Sam’s shoulder, lets his fingers comb through his little brother’s hair just to see that blush on his face, his flushed features, and wet mouth because of course he’s been licking his lips during this, all hot and bothered.

 

And if Dean wasn't close to blowing his load before, he sure as hell is when Sam whispers like a secret, soft and meant for brothers that shouldn't be doing these kinds of things,

 

“I wanna taste it.”

 

And then Sam strokes up and right under the head before rubbing his thumb over the slit, his face so close that he can feel his huff of breath over the wet trail the smear of his pre-cum leaves.

 

“ _Please_ , Dee.”

 

Dean looks up right at the time to see Sam’s lips part almost in slow motion, the anticipation as he sees Sam lick his lips and then part his lips; his tongue darts out and--

 

“ _Sammy_.” And just like that, Dean grips Sam’s hair and fucking _comes_.

 

The first spurt comes out and spills over the head and covers Sam’s fingers, gets ‘em sticky as he keeps stroking right where Dean likes it, tongue out and ready for the second spurt that actually gets Sam right below his chin.

 

Dean forgets how to breathe as Sam keeps his tongue out and catches the third with what Dean swears is an approving moan, and hell if Sam doesn’t look like he’s enjoying it as arches his back, eyes closed and eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he catches the fourth and fifth like a good boy, swallows it and licks his hand clean like an even better one.

 

All Dean can do is watch because _he just got a fucking handjob from his little brother_. Who also just tasted his jizz. And _liked_ it.

 

But this all started with Sam rocking his hips against him, didn’t it?

 

They're not lovers, but Dean always gives back. Usually gives first, actually. “Do you need me to-”

 

Sam cuts him off with a slow lick to the tip, right to the tip so he can clean up what’s left and apparently make Dean almost thrust up again from the sensitivity. Then he’s tucking Dean’s softening cock back into his boxers, pulls his pants the short distance back up.

 

“M’fine,” Sam says with this lazy smile, slurs with it like he’s the one who just came like a pre-teen.

 

 _Oh_.

 

“Stop thinking, Dean,” his little brother says, like Dean isn’t totally dwelling on the fact that his little brother literally just came in his pants.

 

He thinks back to when Sam moaned and _fuck_ , the way he arched his back and fucking came with Dean’s cum on his tongue. But Sam just looks sleepy now. Smiles like he doesn't see Sam do a lot these days, what with all his teenage angst.

 

Sam crawls back up his body with the blankets clenched in one hand. Dean wraps his arm because mess or no mess, neither of them are getting out of this bed right now.

 

He tucks his head back under Dean’s chin like nothing happened, hitches his leg over Dean’s leg this time and rests his hand over the amulet that rests, yep, right above Dean’s heart.

 

But his pulse is calm now as he hears Sam’s content little sigh. He’s out like a light.

 

Dean falls asleep with his hand in Sam’s hair this time, and he almost forgets to make the personal promise to himself that sure, he’ll think about it in the morning.

 

 

There’s no time to think about it in the morning.

 

The sound of the Impala’s engine revving outside their motel door is a familiar wake-up call that almost scares Dean out of the bed because he remembers _exactly_ what happened last night.

 

“Ohmygod, Dean-” Sammy looks like a panicked deer caught in the headlights, on his knees on the bed and looking towards the door.

 

Dean looks at him like _What are you doing?_ but settles for saying, “Go take a shower!” Because if either of them needs it, it’s gonna be him.

 

The sound of their Dad banging on the door startles them, and it’s in the same pattern he always uses to let them know it's him on the other side. Sam almost jumps out of his skin as he jumps off the bed, one sock halfway off as he dashes to the bathroom.

 

Dean waits until the bathroom door is closed to unchain and unlock the door, swinging it open for John. The snow’s stopped but his boots track it in, and Dean closes the door behind him as Dad starts spouting on about how they have to head to Maine. The vamps run deeper than they thought or something; Dean doesn't know, he’s looking at the bed because he forgot to take the second blanket off.

 

If John notices, he doesn't say anything.

 

“Where’s your brother?”

 

“Shower.” Dean’s lucky his voice sounds normal, but he clears his throat anyway.

 

John stalks over to the bathroom door and bangs on it. Dean hears something drop and Dean knows Sam must be panicking.

 

“Hurry up, Sam! We need to be on be on the road in ten.”

 

Dean gets dressed and Sam’s out the door a minute later, and in a towel no less.

 

Dean looks away because if he doesn't, he’s gonna look at the water droplets running down Sam’s back, the goosebumps on his skin because of his cold the room still is. The way his nipples peak.

 

Dean doesn't look, honest.

 

Sam grabs his clothes and gets dressed in the bathroom. They pack their bags without a word between each other and lock the door behind them, at which point John leaves them to check them out and turn in their room key.

 

They settle into the Impala - Dean in the front and Sam in the back, as always.

 

They don't have to say much of anything to each other, but there’s something between them, now.

 

John takes the driver’s seat and doesn't care about how many inches of snow fell last night. He puts the car in gear and they drive away, that first night in Ohio something tormenting, tempting.


End file.
